by Dani Collins
Except today they were talking about her and Chase Goodwin.
Her mechanic greeted her with a sardonic, “Killer.” Her dental hygienist said in the change room, “I’m not a fan of baseball, either, but I don’t know if I’d go as far as you did.”
Last mile, Skye thought. Then she’d go home and call this day done.
She did her warm up run and had just started upstairs with the leg press when she heard it.
“Hey, Jerry. What’s your drop-in rate?”
*
Chase had one hour to get through his routine and get back across town to pick up Flynn. Flynn swore it was a study group for the chem final, but Chase had seen girls walking up from the bus stop. Chemistry all right.
How in hell did you drill into a kid that girls would be in your life forever, but this time of your life could make or break your future?
Maybe the problem was that Flynn knew he had Chase to fall back on. When Chase had been in his situation, he’d had one shot and he’d known it. He hadn’t been willing to blow it for anything or anybody—
Skye Wolcott was here.
You’ve gotta be kidding me. Small freaking towns were a curse.
Skye Wolcott stared daggers at him as she slammed through a set of pulldowns. Not a few girlie disks on the cable either, but a respectable pile of at least ten.
So. Go over and make things worse? Or get on with the routine that would get him back to the life he’d fought for and loved?
He chose the latter because, damn it, he wanted to be ready to play when he got Flynn safely midwived into college and tapped the dust of this town out of his cleats for the last time.
The trouble was, there was no ignoring her. Not only was his male radar tuned to her unique signal, but the place was wall-to-wall mirrors. Even when he was trying to watch his own reflection, the flash of neon pink and lime green kept appearing and disappearing behind his shoulder.
He shouldn’t have said what he had this afternoon. He knew that. There were different levels of flirting and he’d gone too deep too soon. But she had sent him all those confusing signals, eying up his chest, blushing and acting all flustered. The sexual awareness had been bouncing around them like these damned reflections, dazzling him into thinking the tide had turned.
Then she’d taken his remark as some kind of jackass taunt.
White hot pain speared through his shoulder and he carefully brought the weight back to rest. Focus, he reminded himself. He did not want to re-injure.
He didn’t like feeling hated, either. This was so freaking high school. She thought he’d insulted her. He’d inadvertently ruined her reputation. They were both acting immature.
And she was so damned hot. Her bright green short shorts hugged her tight round butt to perfection, accentuating the length of her smooth thighs with their light curve of well-toned hamstrings down the back. He imagined kissing his way along those tendons, feeling her flinch under playful bites.
“Rather than stare at other people, you might consider who’s staring at you. The reality might not make you very comfortable,” she said, switching grips then planting her feet firm for a few more crosspulls.
Did she realize how telling it was that she’d noticed him staring? Biting back a remark about not minding if she stared at him, he said with a measure of irony, “People stare at me all the time. I’m famous. And gay men don’t threaten me.”
“No? That’s good because my ex-husband tells me you’re quite the object of admiration among his many friends.”
Really? She wanted to go there?
“Lady, I’d be careful if I were you, because you’re starting to piss me off.”
“That would make us even then, wouldn’t it?” she said with a frosted-sugar smile.
“You tell me, because I’m getting tired of this.”
She sniffed and moved to the leg curls.
He braced his shoulder and used a small weight as he extended through the range of motion his physio had shown him this morning. When he followed his hand to the four o’clock position, there she was, staring at him.
She looked away, but the zing stayed in him, reverberating with sexual attraction.
“Just so we’re clear,” he told her, voice straining as he moved through the motion again. “If a gay man wants to stare at me, that’s his business, but I’m straight. Very, very—” He looked back into her eyes, all the way to the bottoms of those dark chocolate bowls. “—into women. I wasn’t joking this morning. Not one bit.”
Her weights crashed into the pile and she pushed herself to stand, her body trembling, face flushed and glowing, ponytail crooked and frayed, lips parted as she panted and tried to catch her breath.
“If you want to have a real conversation, we can do that.” Code for something else, obviously. “If you’re not interested, that’s fine too, but let’s not do this anymore.” He pointed across the adversarial space between them. “We’ve grown out of it. It’s time to move on.”
She folded her arms, chin set with indecision, brows bunched together with mistrust. For a moment she looked like she wanted to say something, but then she looked away and glared moodily across the room.
“You done with that?” someone asked beside him. He glanced at the ripped gym monkey who removed an ear bud to hear Chase’s answer.
Chase lifted his hand off the weight and stepped away. When he glanced back at Skye, she was gathering her notebook and water bottle. She disappeared into the change rooms without saying anything more, leaving him wondering, Well? Was she interested or wasn’t she?
*
It’s time to move on.
Skye had been hearing versions of that advice for months. Chelsea had said it last night. Not in so many words, couching it more gently as, Sweetie, you’re gorgeous. Don’t think that losing Terry was the end for you. There are other men out there.
Even her mother had pulled out the old cliché about fish in the sea when Chelsea had been out to the ranch for a ride and Sunday dinner.
She did need to move on. More importantly, she needed to quit thinking it was all or nothing. One reason she refused to date was a determination not to give up on having a husband and family. If she couldn’t see a man as The One From Her Dreams, then she didn’t bother seeing any at all.
Not that they’d been lining up to ask her out. No, she was a bit of a pariah with her magical ability to reverse the polarity of a man’s compass.
That’s why she’d been so sure Chase was having a laugh at her expense this morning. No one really wanted her.
Except maybe…him?
Not for real, obviously. Not forever, but in the way that a famous athlete might want a woman if he was stuck in a small town with little to pick from and she had a decent body and no ring on her finger.
As Skye showered and changed, she tried to sift through how she felt about that. Flattered? Reassured, at least, that she could attract a man. Which only told her how desperate she was for male attention.
Oh, heck, she shouldn’t be this tempted. It would be a one-night stand, not her kind of thing at all.
But it was Chase Goodwin. Even back in high school girls had talked about what a good kisser he was. He’d had nothing but practice since then. Quite an opportunity for someone who could really use a better experience than what she’d had.
Give it up, Skye, she chastised herself and zipped her sweat-damp clothes into her duffel. She was probably misreading him again. He hadn’t meant anything except that he’d prefer to have a civil conversation rather than acrimonious ones. Which was fair enough. She hated conflict.
She walked out of the change room and there he was, leaving the men’s room.
They both stopped.
He jangled his keys, giving her a sardonic look. “I have to get Flynn. I’m not stalking you or anything.”
“Okay.” She tried not to stare into his eyes, desperate to know whether the attraction he’d alluded to was real. Not that she wanted to do anything about it, mind. She just really wan
ted, needed, to know.
He waved. “Ladies first.”
“Oh.” Great. She loved that feeling of his eyes all over her back. Not.
They got to the door and his arm came up next to her, pushing it open so his body heat and the faint smell of manly sweat encompassed her. Earthy, animal scents worked on her. They always had. She was a child of the land.
She hurried ahead of him, disconcerted by a rush of pheromones that made her even more intrigued and uncertain than ever.
He went past her toward a black SUV with rental plates, cursed, then stopped and came back to her, making her back deeper into the space between her hatchback and the mayor’s convertible.
“Can I get a proper apology off my chest?” he blurted with the kind of bulldozer aggression men got when they’d worked up the nerve to talk about feelings and wanted it over with as quickly as possible. “It was a stupid remark and I wish I hadn’t said it. I’m sorry that my being a public figure made it worse for you. If I made you uncomfortable by telling you I’m attracted to you, then message received. A friendly wave is all I ever expect from you.” He jumbled the keys in his palm. “I’m only in town ‘til the end of the month anyway, so I won’t be in your face much. Well, except at the school…”
He trailed off as though he expected her to say something, but she didn’t know what to say. Her ears were ringing with those bemusing words, I’m attracted to you. Something was using her heart as a trampoline, sending flutters through her upper chest while she searched his gaze for duplicity.
“And we’re back to the eyes,” he muttered, pushing his fists into his pockets. “Apology accepted or not, Skye?”
“What do you mean about the eyes?” She scowled, feeling criticized.
“You always used to look at me like that. Like you thought I was going to eat you alive. I was afraid to say boo in case you flew into a window or something.”
“That’s not very nice,” she said, but chuckled at the image, half-embarrassed and half-elated that he’d noticed her at all back then.
“I’m going for honesty here,” Chase said, running with it because he was so delighted she was actually giving him a chance. “You thought I was being the opposite of nice this morning and the truth is, if you hadn’t been so shy back at school, if you hadn’t been with Terry and me with…” His mind blanked. What was her name? It completely escaped him.
“Candy,” Skye provided with a blink of those bottomless brown eyes. “Candace Irvine. She married someone from Tulsa, but they’re divorced now.”
He so didn’t care. “What I’m saying is, if things had been different back then, things would have been different.”
“Really.” She smirked, mouth working against a twitch of amusement. “Okay.”
He realized how stupid he sounded and silently cursed.
But then, as though she couldn’t hold it back, the smile came, the one that broke like the sun topping the mountain, spreading warmth across the valley of his heart.
So pretty. He couldn’t take his eyes off her clear, smooth skin, dewy fresh from her shower, hair skimmed back in comb rows under her schoolgirl headband. She’d washed all her makeup off and she was more striking than any supermodel he’d ever met and he’d met quite a few.
“Didn’t you, um…” Her shoulders wriggled and she caught her bottom lip with her perfect white teeth. “Don’t you have to go get Flynn?”
“What?” A blush seared the back of his neck. He cursed. “Right. Yes. Thank you.” His turn to forget his brain in the copier. This was bad. What was happening here? Their gazes were tangling like a pair of fishing lines, both flashing with lures. So help him, he couldn’t move. They both continued to stand there, staring.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “For, um, causing a bigger cell phone scandal than the Snowden leaks.”
He acknowledged that with a cant of his head, but reassured her, “Someone will take a snap of his junk tonight. We’ll be old news by morning.”
She laughed freely. Not a simpering giggle like the groupies offered. Not a suck-up Oh, Chase, you’re so funny. No, her laugh was rich, very appreciative, even bordering on scolding, but totally sincere.
“Do you guys, like, draw straws to see whose turn it is, or…?”
His turn to laugh, caught off guard by her retort. “It’s the damned paparazzi that’re really behind it.”
“In front, apparently.”
The banter was silly and lighthearted and he had to work to remember why he was supposed to be walking away from her right now.
Their chuckles petered off to wide smiles of dazzled, mutual admiration. He hooked his elbow on the top of her car and leaned into her space, unable to look away from her. “You’re going to let me buy you dinner, aren’t you? When?”
She withdrew a little, gaze flickering around self-consciously. “People would talk. They’re probably staring as they drive by right now.”
“You care?”
“I live here. You might be leaving in a month, but I won’t.”
Right. He straightened, aware there was a deeper light of warning in what she was saying. She had roots here. He didn’t. Wouldn’t. That reason, the big reason he’d never pursued anything with her, remained brilliantly relevant.
He still wanted to see her. Bad.
“We could run out to that place.” He snapped his fingers, trying to recollect its name. “The one that overlooks the falls. Is it still running?”
“I—Maybe. Probably. I haven’t been out there in years, but…”
“We’ll check it out. I’d say Friday, but I heard some of Flynn’s friends talking about a party this weekend. Flynn swore he doesn’t want to go, but I’d rather stick around to keep a lid on him if he changes his mind. Saturday he’s working at the pizza place ‘til two so I know he won’t get into any trouble before I get him. Pick you up at the ranch?”
“No, I’m on Copper Mountain.” She told him the address. “In the book under Baynard if you forget.”
He wouldn’t forget. He schooled an instinctive frown at her continuing to use Terry’s name, though. He had a lot of questions about that marriage of hers, but that could wait until Saturday. Boo-yeah. Hot date for the weekend.
“Should we get an early start? It’s a bit of a drive. Leave at five?” Four, three, two…?
“Okay. Five.” It was a squeak, like a kitten’s mew. She was practically wobbling she was so wide-eyed yet unsure.
He wanted to gather her up right there and then. Kiss her.
She lifted her hand in, ah hell, was that a friendly wave?
He stomped down hard on his libido, nodded and left to fetch his brother.
Chapter Four
‡
Skye told no one.
Part of her, the cautious woman who lived alone, said that keeping her plans a secret was stupid and careless, but her dented self-esteem was actually the reason she stayed silent. He wouldn’t try anything. He could say he was interested, but she didn’t really believe him.
So why go out with him at all?
She didn’t want bad feelings between them, she told herself as her sensible side had words with her inner adolescent. This date was a step beyond that life she’d told Stan she hated. She couldn’t keep moping. If a gorgeous man wanted to buy her dinner, maybe even kiss her, she wanted to let him.
Back on the horse, baby.
Even though she was insanely nervous to even have dinner with him. What would they talk about, coming from completely different worlds these days? And what should she wear? She wanted to look her best, but feared her best would never measure up to what he was used to. Look at the women inhabiting his sphere.
Not a good idea, she decided, putting down her tablet and second-guessing the dress she’d chosen, wondering if jeans with a snazzy top would be more appropriate. The restaurant was on the higher end, catering to anniversary celebrations and honeymooning tourists, but this was Montana. Cowboy boots were welcome everywhere. She didn’t want to b
e overdressed if he showed up looking casual.
The dress, she told herself. Quit being such a chicken liver.
She shrugged the stretchy fabric over her shoulders then wiggled it down her hips. It was a clingy thing of apricot and peach tones with a low neckline, long sleeves and a hem that went almost to her knees. Not too sexy or formal, but it showed her figure and did nice things for her skin tone.
Her tablet burbled. Terry. Dang. She slid her finger to answer.
“Hey,” she greeted. “The girls are coming over, I can’t talk,” she lied, glancing away. Their marriage might have been founded on one big whopper, but they’d always been pretty honest with each other about everything else. She certainly had.
“Since when do you dress like that for the girls? You look awesome.”
“We’re going out.” She scooped up her shoes as she carried her tablet through the bedroom and down the stairs.
“Group therapy? It’s been that bad for you this week?”
“No, my notoriety died down pretty fast. Someone tried to book a rapper for one of the floats in the Homecoming parade.” She gave him a goggled can-you-believe-that stare. “They almost had to call up the National Guard to calm the riot.”
“Makes me homesick to imagine it. Pour a glass of wine and let’s sit on the deck so you can tell me all about it.”
She glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes before Chase would arrive and she’d been so excited, she was ready way ahead of schedule. At least talking to Terry would pass the time without her turning into a basket of nerves.
Carrying a glass of California’s best Sauv Blanc onto the deck, she set up the tablet to give him the view of the river glittering along the valley floor, put her feet up beside him and gave him the long play version of how some slick-talking promoter had nearly sabotaged the beloved country twang that formed the soundtrack to all of Marietta’s community events.
*
Chase was early. He’d had to drop Flynn at his job at four so rather than zigzag home and back across town, he’d decided to carry on to Skye’s. Conserving gas was the ecological thing to do, right?
